our fraying selves

To hear Brandi’ read this essay instead, visit https://youtu.be/lvdy_cPgO0E

I am a teacher, and this week I have had the privilege of talking with some other teachers who were honest about the weariness they feel. Education in the Covid era is not for the faint of heart, and I sense the compiled exhaustion they experience.

I also care about quite a few health professionals, and they too, struggle to find the hope and joy in serving others for which they are known. It is not just Omicron, or caring for hurting people who reject the convictions of those who comfort them. It is entering the 24th month of this work. It is long, wins feel rare, and losses pile up.

Because it is late January, I’m also thinking a lot about many friends of color navigating the days between Martin Luther King, Jr’s Holiday and Black History Month. This year, in addition to bracing themselves for the blows that come with performative tributes to Civil Rights Heroes, matched all too often with little to no action, they also, we also, have to grapple with the fact that our Congress will not secure easy access to the voting booth. Additionally, in these two weeks between King and Black History, we discover that Southern States, states that protected slave owners and white supremacist segregation, have drawn new district maps that appear to intentionally diminish the voting power of Black and Brown bodies. For folks who care deeply about equity, about protecting those our society has a track record of abusing, late January 2022 feels dark.

I live at the intersection of these identities: an educator, married to a health care professional, with White and Black children, who cares deeply about injustice and equity. Everywhere I look, hope is hard to find. Purpose, even, can feel hard to pinpoint. This week I don’t have a lot of fire, and I certainly don’t have big answers. Instead, I’d like to offer a few small glimpses of restorative hope, of perspective that might help us find the ground beneath us.

First, you aren’t alone. If you are lonely, angry, weary…you aren’t alone. If you wonder how your work or presence matters each day, you aren’t alone. If you find yourself ragey or teary or numb, you aren’t alone. If you vacillate between purposeful action and passive abdication, you aren’t alone. I believe we were all made in God’s Divine image, and I believe God when God says the poor in spirit will be comforted, that those with broken hearts will be bound up. Moreover, I find great solace in the fact that humanity is groaning together right now. Folks from Burkina Faso and Yemen are scared and hurting. Those of Jewish or Asian descent in America face the chronic unease of fear. Parents in line for groceries they can’t afford live with anxiety crawling within. We are not alone. In the vision of humanity called the Beloved Community by King and others, inspired by the teachings of Jesus, our community holds us in joy and in devastation. We are holding each other even now, sharing a long term, slowly unfolding trauma. You aren’t alone.

Second, do what you can do, not what you can’t. I am typically driven by Big P Purpose, but these days I struggle to find it. When I find myself frustrated by all that I can’t control, I find a small glimpse of hope in showing up as well as I can for the people in front of me. I’m not trying to save the world this week, but if a friend comes to mind, I can reach out. If a patient or student appears, I can offer them my full attention. If a kid is scared or upset, I can hold them. Each of us has a lot we cannot do. So be it. Each of us also has a little we can do. So do it.

When we feel the fraying of our inner selves, sometimes we hear a call that helps us rise to a big occasion. This week, I humbly submit that your Self, as small and battered as you might feel, is a beautiful reminder of God’s eternal community. Just in be-ing, you remind those around you that we all belong to a shared community. Look around, be where you are, knowing you are enough, and that you are held.